


Ash to Flame

by FlashySyren



Series: When All Seems Lost [2]
Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Loki is Loki, Thor Is Not Stupid, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:36:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4923403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashySyren/pseuds/FlashySyren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Banished from Asgard, Loki is busy trying to unwind the blood magics Lady Sif had wound around herself to protect her mind. Meanwhile Thor finds himself dealing with an uprising of violence in his home realm as he tries to perform his duties as both King of Asgard and Protector of Midgard.</p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>Dreams Come Slow and They Go So Fast</i>. It will make the most sense if you read that story first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, my work is unbeta'd. I do make every attempt to catch most of my editing errors, but am far from perfect in doing so.

The pages of the tome crinkled as Loki abruptly looked up from the runes etched into thick parchment. Realizing with a start just how quiet it was. “Sif?”

Greeted only with more silence his heart skipped. Perhaps the worst thing about being responsible for Lady Sif was all the noise that accompanied her. Constantly doing _something_ : Practicing her forms, stockinged feet scuffing across the floors, drumming her fingers, tapping her foot. It often drove him utterly _mad_ , but as the weeks went on in this abandoned monolith of stone, it slowly became background noise, something he barely noticed until it was gone.

Like now.

He cursed and went to look for her.

The useable rooms were clustered toward the center. Cleared of all debris, the walls fortified, Loki had done what he could to make them homey. Colorful tapestries hung on the ivory stone walls, and thick animal skin rugs covered the floors. Before departing Asgard he had gathered together as many personal items as he could, but had only brought a few of Sif’s weapons. All of which he currently held for safekeeping.

Njörd’s abandoned palace in the ruins of what was once Vanaheim’s capitol city was far from ideal, but their best option for being left alone. The tropical atmosphere grew plenty of wild fruits and vegetables, and the hunting was always abundant. If only he didn’t have to suffer so much in the heat!

His booted footsteps echoed off the stone walls as he first checked Sif’s room, followed by the common room beyond. Finding them empty, he then tried the kitchen and the baths, both with no more luck than he already had. His wards hadn’t alerted him to anyone leaving or arriving. Where had she gone?

He would have noticed if she had shared the small study he had commandeered with him, which left only his own rooms. Loki’s temper flared as he imagined her digging through his things, doing Norns only knew what and for what purpose, and upon reaching the door, shoved it open with enough force for it to slam against the wall.

A mistake. One he recognized the moment it was made, but it was already too late to undo.

There had only been a glimpse of her, standing by the balcony where she could look out over the overgrown jungle beyond, trapped just inside the wards which kept her from stepping out in the gloomy daylight that promised rain. Her arms might have been crossed, but any peace she might have had was shattered with that resounding _bang_ of heavy wood against stone.

Sif startled, and the rush of adrenaline activated the spell that had clawed so deeply into her soul.

“Lady Sif.” Loki forced his voice to remain calm, raised his hands in supplication. “I did not mean to startle you.” Speaking to her had never worked in the past, but he still hoped that, in time, she would eventually respond to his voice alone. She was unarmed, but caught in the tide of the twisted Berserker spell she had given herself, weapons were unnecessary. Besides, she had never needed a weapon to bring down a foe _before_ the spell had been established.

The woman that stalked toward him was barely recognizable with hate and anger twisting her features. Loki retrieved his dagger in preparation of the moment he would need to protect himself while he quickly began weaving the spell he had gotten almost too used to using.

She sprang, and he hit her with his seidr, but while the spell would eventually down her, the magic that washed through her veins always fought it. Luckily for him he had always been quick on his feet. Loki ducked aside, and raised one vambrace covered forearm to block her strike. Flipping his blade over in his hand, he drove the pommel into her chest, and took a fist to the chin for his efforts. Both of them staggered backward, separating, but while he quickly regained his footing, Sif stumbled as his spell finally began to take hold.

The look of surprise on her face had almost become familiar, something that Loki tried desperately not to dwell on. That wasn’t Sif. Not really, it was the Berserker. The one she had invited. The one he was trying to figure out how to expel. For, while the runes she had carved into her skin had protected her mind from Iceles, she had not imbued herself with the gifts granted to Berserkers, she had cursed herself with the soul of an actual Berserker of old.

Resentment bubbled up in him, made him want to lash out, but there was no one to turn his ire onto except himself. Not that he would ever openly admit that this was his fault. He hadn’t been the one to set the spell. Nor would he have ever recommended such a thing. Lady Sif had done this to herself willingly, and he’d had no part in it.

Loki shook himself free of those thoughts, and awkwardly scooped Sif up into his arms. She would be out for a little while, but, usually, when she woke, was again herself. He carried her back into the study with him, and lay her down on the pile of furs he had laid thickly on the floor for just this reason. He would want to keep her close why she slept, but wasn’t willing to abandon his books to do it.

Her hair had begun to grow out after the hack job she had given herself, and he had done what he could to even it out, still he could barely stand to look at it, finding it always brought back memories of the first time it had grown out. As black as the spaces between the stars, much like regular hair, but not regular hair at all. Cutting it had been no easy task, and while it wasn’t designed to grow again, Loki’s magics were making it so.

He brushed an unruly lock out of her face and turned back to the book he had abandoned. The first thing he needed to do was identify the Berserker that possessed her. Names had power, and no matter how deeply the wraith’s claws were hooked into Sif’s soul, he would find the right spell to oust him.

The sooner she was free, the sooner his banishment would be lifted. Not that he had any real interest in returning to Asgard. What was there for him in that place? It was merely the principle of it!

His lip curled as he settled back into the chair and suppressed a desire for revenge. Plans could come later once he had fulfilled his promise.

Not to Thor. He owed the thunderer nothing. But he had foolishly allowed Sif to extract an oath from him. Loki blamed the fear he had seen in her eyes, and the guilt she hadn’t been allowed to see in his own. He hated that she could still hold power over him so long after they had firmly parted ways. Regardless, he had promised, and liar or no, he held to his vows.

The next few hours passed far too slowly for Loki’s liking, as he anticipated Sif’s waking too much to remain focused for more than a few minutes at a time, but finally, he saw her stir, and set the tome down on the worn desk at his side.

“Are you with me, Lady Sif?” He asked softly, leaning forward in his chair.

Sif offered him a rude gesture and curled in on herself.

“It would seem that you are.” Loki rubbed his jaw when he saw her press her palm to her sternum.

“I apologize for the bruise. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got one of my own.” He ignored his guilt, by now that bruise was probably mostly faded, it would be completely gone by daybreak. “What were you doing in my rooms, Sif?”

She shifted into a seated position, leaning back against the smooth white stone of the wall, and raked her fingers through her cropped hair. “Your room is the only view of the world outside this prison.”

Loki could practically taste the bitterness in her tone and sighed. “You know why I cannot let you outside. It’s too dangerous.”

“I wasn’t trying to get outside!” She snapped, “I just wanted to _see_ outside. To breathe some Norns-damned fresh air!”

“Then you should have _told_ me!” He retorted just as sharply. “Do you think I like keeping you locked in here—?”

“Yes!”

Loki drew a deep breath and let it out slowly in an effort to control his own temper. “Calm down before you wake it.”

Sif pulled her knees in against her chest, and leaned her head against the wall with her eyes closed. “What more do you want from me? You have my weapons and my armor, I’ve been banished from my home and placed in the care of the same traitor that would have seen me dead in a strange land. Yet, I’m supposed to simply trust that you have my best interests at heart?”

“No.” He straightened, “You are supposed to believe that I have _my_ best interests at heart, and right now, freeing you is it.”

An ironic, mirthless smile tugged at her lips. “So you say.”

“Look around you, Sif.” Loki had never felt so tired. He sneered, “Do you truly think this is where I wish to be? I do not blame you your lack of trust, but do try not to sound so ridiculous when you strike out at me in frustration.”

“I am going mad in here. I have nothing to occupy my time except to watch you stare for hours on end at piles of books.”

He sighed, “Perhaps I could find you some embroidery supplies…. I seem to recall you once enjoyed carving?” Though Sif never spoke of it, he knew she enjoyed gardening as well, but he could not offer her that. Not until he could trust her not to be triggered outside where she could disappear.

“Fine.” She picked at the furs she sat on, tugging on them. “It’s something at least.”

“Are you hungry? It’s close enough to dinner time to go ahead and eat if you would like?” That was perhaps one of the hardest parts of watching over her. Loki had never been the best at making sure he took care of his basic needs, especially while caught up in his studies, and now he had not only himself to think of, but also Sif who wasn’t always in the frame of mind to ensure her own needs were met. She’d grown rather gaunt while trapped within that magical construct of a world, and while she had been eating well enough since then and much of the weight she had lost was returning, there was still a sort of hollowness to her face that made Loki uneasy.

Sif made a face but got to her feet. “I had better eat. I’ll regret it otherwise.”

He chuckled, “As will I.”

Sif shot him a look, but, much to his surprise, it softened into a small smile. “You had better believe it.”

Loki’s eyebrows rose, “My kitchen cannot survive another of your attempts at a midnight snack.”

“It was not _that_ bad.” She protested, and for just a moment, Loki caught a glimpse of the girl he had loved. 

Viciously, he stomped on the feeling that rose in his chest and scowled. “It _was_ that bad. The room was so filled with smoke, it took over an hour to vent, and stunk like burned vegetables for days.”

“You exaggerate.”

Loki gave her a look, but didn’t retort as he could already see the temporary mirth draining away, replaced by wariness, and that emotion he wished would go away made itself felt again. “You can help by chopping up vegetables for the stew. It will go faster.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re going to give me a knife?”

“Temporarily. Do try not to stab me with it?”

He was rewarded with another smile. “I will try.”

Loki wished he knew for certain whether that meant she would or would _not_ try stabbing him.


	2. Chapter 2

Jane huffed an annoyed sigh and shoved her journal away from herself. Then tried not to look at it when it came to rest near the center of the polished table. The action didn’t make her feel any better, and why should it? It wasn’t her work that had her feeling so on edge, restless.

She rose from her seat to pluck the notebook back up and closed it, folding her hands over the top of the cover. It wasn’t her work frustrating her because she was too unsettled to work. From her vantage point, Jane couldn’t see Thor, nor could she hear his steps, booted feet muffled by the thick rugs, but she could see his elongated shadow in the doorway when he pacing neared the study, she could watch that shadow retreat as he headed back along the wall.

What would he have in his hands this time? Another tome? A scroll? Or was he just carrying his guilt around again like a colicky baby?

Inwardly she chastised herself for being so impatient, but even as she did, Jane had to admit that she was out of her depth.

Self-consciously, she smoothed down her dress when she stood, and scooped up her journal, holding it against her chest as she moved to intercept him.

Thor was just turning at the corner of the room, off to the right of the doorway when she stepped through it, and, catching her movement from the corner of his eye like any good warrior would, he stopped to look up at her with stormy eyes, gray rather than his usual bright blue.

The book in his hands snapped shut and while Jane didn’t hear an echo, she felt one, like a blow to her breastbone.

“I can find nothing.” Voice low, it still rumbled like thunder, or was that thunder in the distance? An answer to his mood or simply a flight of fancy? “Loki knew of that world, he must have read of it somewhere, but I can find _nothing_!”

For a moment Jane thought he might fling the book, she could still remember the bang and crash of another one that had met that fate, breaking a decorative sconce in the process and damaging the wall enough to have required repairing. This time, however, he did not. The tome remained in his hands, fingers clenching hard enough to sink into the leather binding.

This was where she would normally go to him, offer words of comfort or encouragement, try to break through the clouds to seek the light, but she found herself too wary to take that step. It had been easy once, to draw out Thor’s smiles, but that was before.

Jane wanted to understand. To do so had required making herself see him. _Really_ see him. Not as the human-appearing alien she had accepted him to be, but as the Asgardian he _actually_ was. The mind of a man who lived thousands of her lifetimes was not the same as hers. His thought processes, the bruises on his soul, they were of a different physiology. He didn’t make the same connections, he didn’t hold on to the same hurts, but clung to others she simply couldn’t fathom.

“I’m going to go back to Earth.” She said, letting her eyes go unfocused to avoid seeing that wounded light she knew would flash in his eyes like lightning in the clouds, and hurried on before he could mistake her intentions. “Maybe there is something written about it there. Some myth or legend I can find, but I’m no help here. I can’t read the languages, and most of the books are too heavy for me to handle properly.”

Thor nodded, slowly. “Alright.” He frowned, then, “I cannot accompany you.” He said it like a question, tone rising at the end.

Jane exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I know. You are King now. Asgard needs you here right now.”

He shook his head and scrubbed his hand over his face. “Not all of my responsibilities are here. I will—“

The main doors slammed open behind her. Jane startled and almost dropped her journal as she spun around.

“My King!” Said the Einherjar—Aldir, she thought his name was—who had thrown the door open, unapologetically ignoring Jane’s presence entirely. His features were hard to determine under his armor, but those icy blue eyes were hard to miss. “There is an urgent matter in the throne room.”

The sound of the book hitting the table top made her jump again, but Jane shook it off and hurried after them, curiosity overruling anything else she was feeling at the moment.

When she had first arrived, she had been excited to get to know Asgard. Really see the sights, meet the people, and get a feel for the world Thor was from. The shine on the golden realm very quickly dulled, however, when she realized how unfriendly most of the people were with her. At first she was sure it was because she was human and they didn’t approve of her, and while she soon learned she wasn’t completely wrong about that, there was much more to it. Enough more that she was still trying to untangle it all, make sense of what she could see and hear. It was a dance she was unfamiliar with, a kind of politics that she had no frame of reference for.

Thor had a private entrance into the throne room, bringing him in at the back of the room so he wouldn’t have to walk past the people who had gathered there. He paused at the entryway, looking back at Jane with an expression she couldn’t read before continuing on to the throne.

She was not his queen, not even an official consort, and had no training in matters of the court. She was allowed there because he said she was allowed there, but Jane had no part in the proceedings. She stepped aside, out of the way her eyes falling on what could only be a prisoner.

The man was kneeling on the marble, head bowed, heavy chains around his waist, manacles on his wrists.. She couldn’t see his face as it was blocked from view by his filthy, tangled hair. He was probably blond, she saw some evidence of that under the mud and blood that streaked it. The little braids she could see holding it back from falling over his eyes were what she had been told were called warrior braids. They told her he was warrior class, or at least trying to emulate it. Blood dripped—from his nose? A cut to his cheek or brow?—off his face into a gathering puddle on the floor.

“What is this?” Thor’s voice boomed, and this time, when Jane heard thunder she knew it wasn’t her imagination.

“A murderer.” The Einherjar who stood beside the prisoner answered. Jane didn’t have to see his face to recognize his voice and picture the man’s dead gaze. She didn’t know his name, only knew what the other guards said of him, what they called him when they spoke of him. _Draugr_ , meaning undead, basically a Nordic zombie, she had leaned in her quick research of the word. For all that she wasn’t cut out to be a spy, she did know how to listen.

A woman began to wail and Jane suddenly took note of the couple who stood off to the side with another guard. Neither looked to be much older than the kneeling prisoner, but on Asgard that didn’t necessarily mean anything, he could be a spouse or a brother or even a son…. A grandson if two generations reproduced young. How many generations could be spawned before enough age made the first generation look old enough to be grandparents?

Jane jerked herself away from her questions, now wasn’t the time to chase those avenues when she might miss what was going on.

“Explain.” Thor demanded and the prisoner’s shoulders shook.

Jane wondered briefly if it was fear, but that possibility vanished as soon as the prisoner looked up, grinning through jagged, bloody teeth.

“I have a message for you, Son of Odin.”

Jane looked up at Thor, tried to gauge how he was feeling, and failed. Thor’s face was a mask.

“Speak then.” Thunder cracked.

The prisoner straightened his body to more easily look up at Asgard’s King upon his throne and Jane shuddered. Her attention had been on his broken teeth before, now it was on the whites of his eyes. Irises rolled back in his head.

The prisoner spoke, and when he did, it was with an unnerving tone, as if two spoke simultaneously, a man and a woman. “Odin sacrificed his brothers for the throne and cast a curse upon his own house. Destroying the boy who would have ruled, and raising up the one who would ever have his eyes upon the next horizon. The House of Odin has fallen. The Houses of Vili and Vé, forgotten as they have been, combined and grow strong. They come for your crown.”

That creepy voice had barely gone silent when the horn sounded, two short blasts, and Thor was halfway out the door, Mjölnir in hand, by the end of the second, chased by the prisoner’s laughter.

The villagers beyond the palace walls were under attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life sucks sometimes, my desire to write has been sketchy at best lately, and the outcome of that writing is about what you would expect of something done without any feeling. It feels good to want to write again and I hope it can keep up enough to get through this story in a reasonable period of time. I also want to say a big thank you to those who have waited so patiently for me to get on with things. I hope you're not disappointed with this peek into how things are going in Asgard.


End file.
